


Footsteps in the Hallway

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, canon compatible, except Lincoln's lowkey still alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think Fitz wants kids.”</p><p>-</p><p>Simmons shows up on Daisy's doorstep one night, having worked herself into quite a state about her and Fitz' future together. Daisy - and later, Fitz - help her resolve some (in)fertility-related distress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 -

It’s late at night, and it should be at least a little brisk standing out in the corridor, but Jemma Simmons is practically sweating. She rocks on her heels, twisting and scraping her nails at the well-worn elbows of Fitz’ cardigan.

Tears sting her cheeks. She curses to herself, but her fingers refuse to leave the strangely comforting wool – not to wipe away the evidence, and not even to knock, to call upon the help she so desperately needs.

Fortunately, her silhouette (or perhaps the sound of tearful breathing, curse it all) eventually calls footsteps to the door.

The words tumble from her lips as soon as someone is there to hear them.

“I think Fitz wants kids.”

–

Daisy beckons Jemma inside immediately, sits her on the bed, and shoves a pillow into her lap. Reluctantly, Jemma’s fingers transfer from the grey wool of the cardigan, to the corner of the pillowcase.

“Have you actually talked to Fitz about it?” Daisy asks, as gently as she can.

Jemma looks up at her with a hint of sharpness in her eyes, as if the shining tracks and red blotches on her face are sufficient evidence that no, she has not.

“What makes you think that then?”

Jemma shrugs, blinking back a new round of tears.

“He’s always liked them, I guess – I mean, it’s not like we were around them much, but you know, he came over for Christmas once and played with my little cousins for hours, and he started this demonstration with a bunch of toy helicopters to distract some kids from May taking down that guy…” She sniffs. “This mission this week, looking after Sarah, he kept looking at me with these _eyes_ , these _big eyes_ , like-“

She gestures vaguely at her face, having run out of words to explain the complex layers of feelings that she had read, and with which she had responded.

“It’s okay,” Daisy murmurs, gently and slowly starting to draw circles on Jemma’s back. She bites her lip at the sound of Simmons’ attempts to swallow back tears. “It’s okay. Fitz respects the crap out of you. He’ll listen. He loves _you_ , okay? Not this.”

She puts her hand on Jemma’s belly, attempting to get a laugh. Jemma manages a soft hiccup, which Daisy figures will do for now.

“It’s not – that –“ Jemma sniffs, turning a shake of her head into a shrug.

“You don’t know what you want?”

Another no-maybe. Daisy frowns a little.

“He hasn’t been guilt tripping you or anything though, right? As much as I love the guy, I will kick his ass. You know my code. Bros before…bros. No uterus, no opinion.”

Jemma whines. Daisy immediately feels her heart plummet.

“Oh, dear,” she hums, drawing Jemma into a tight hug. “What did I say?”

Jemma’s eyes are full of tears, blinding her. She takes a long moment to appreciate the strong, solid warmth of Daisy’s arms around her, Daisy’s body against her, before she draws breath and pulls away. She stands up and paces in front of the bed.

“D’you-“ She sniffs and tries again. “Do you know what a hysterectomy is?”

“Yeah, where they get your baby bits and –“

Two and two fall together. Daisy falls silent.

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time,” Jemma shrugs bitterly, as tears stick her eyelashes together and she wants to run, or to disappear into a black hole inside herself, into a universe where she never breaks down.

“I was twenty-three, I’d never had a long-term relationship, I was having this horrible heavy bleeding and they said I’d run out of eggs soon anyway so I just-“ She threw her hand in the air for a moment, miming removal, biting her lip at what now seemed a horribly flippant decision.

“Hey, periods suck, man,” Daisy empathised. “If I could get out of them, I would. It’s not like you didn’t think about it though, right? What was that you said about eggs?”

“My- my ovaries are small. The gynaecologist told me there weren’t many eggs left and that I’d run out in a few years unless I saved them. But it was expensive and I don’t want kids and my uterus was hostile anyway so I decided to just let it go.”

“See, you thought about it. There’s nothing more you can do.”

“But you should have _seen_ him, he was _glowing_.” As much as it hurts, she smiles at the memory. “He was _so happy.”_

Daisy bites her lip. She’s almost smiling too.

“Have you seen him look at you lately?”

Jemma stops pacing, and turns to Daisy with a furrow between her brows. Daisy’s lips spread into a proper smile, and then she gets an idea.

“Let me show you something.”

She slides off the bed towards the dresser, and digs out a photo album.

“You have an album of me and Fitz?” Jemma’s voice only shakes a little, the sparks of curiosity beginning to overcome embarrassment and pain.

“Not just of you guys. But there’s a lot of you.”

She starts flicking through pages, and eventually settles on one to hand over. Her heart gives a smug, satisfied flicker as she watches Jemma’s eyes bug slightly, and her jaw drop.

“What'd I tell ya?” she quips, quickly dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “That boy is certified Jemma Simmons trash. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Jemma sighs and sits back on the bed. She glances back at the open page, and smiles one more time, before looking back up at Daisy.

“It’s not that,” she says, with more control this time. “I know he loves me. I honestly don’t even mind about kids either way. I just wish I could do this for him. I’m no good at romance and he never asks anything of me and this…”

She looks down at the pictures again. Daisy must have used a Polaroid; the format is familiar, and the shots starting to discolour after years of weathering. They look more beautiful for the wear, somehow. They’re simple shots – candids in the lab, the dining room, at karaoke – but still they make her smile. The lab one is her favourite for now. She’s working, and laughing – probably at something Daisy said, or blushing away from the camera because it’s too early in the morning. Fitz is off-centre, almost accidentally in the shot, but his eyes seem so bright and adoring that they draw the focus of Jemma’s gaze. She knows the weight and the warmth of that stare so well now, it’s hard to believe she never felt it before she saw it.

The bed moves as Daisy comes to sit beside her. Jemma looks toward her, only to follow the movement of her hands to where she’s left a cellphone in Jemma’s lap, on top of the open photo album.

“You want to do something grand and romantic for Fitz?” Skye offers. “Call him. Meet him someplace. Tell him how you feel and let him hold you til you’ve sorted something out. _Share_ with him.”

Jemma draws a deep breath, studying the innocuous cell phone lying against her hands. The last time she cried so openly in front of Fitz seems so long ago, but casting her mind back, she can remember. She had still felt Daisy’s cold sweat beneath her fingertips, smelt blood in her nostrils and then there had been warmth, solidarity, that smell of ageing wool that touched all of Fitz’ clothes. Arms around her. Understanding, comfort and love. So much love.

She picks up the phone.

“Fitz?” She’s starting to shake again.

_"Jemma?"_

She can hear the immediate concern in his voice. She can practically feel him already on the move out of bed. She takes a deep breath.

“I- I-“

She can’t make the words come. What words? What does she actually want?

There are footsteps in the hall outside.

Daisy answers the door, and without a word, lets Fitz push past her. She takes her leave with a nod, and Jemma invites Fitz to sit down.


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz pushes past Daisy, concern consuming his entire expression. His eyes lock on Simmons instantly, and Daisy takes her leave as Simmons smiles a watery smile and gestures for Fitz to sit beside her.

“Jemma?”

He comes to sit down without taking his eyes off her.

“Are you okay?”

Seeing her wrapped forlornly in his cardigan, clearly just come from crying, he’s already tearing up. He takes her hands in his, closing the cell-phone but letting it sit under their hands in her lap. After a moment, he moves one of his hands, to wipe the tears from her eyes with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you okay?” he asks again. “Was it nightmares again?”

“No,” she shakes her head, flattered and slightly overwhelmed by his concern. “No, Daisy could have helped with those perfectly fine. This is something considerably more…well, considerably different, anyway.”

“Do you want to talk about it? You know you can tell me anything, right? Or…not tell me anything, but I’m not as much of a fan of that one if we’re being honest.”

She sighs, trying to build up the courage.

“Yes. Yes I definitely do want to talk about it. It’s just…hard. It’s going to hurt and I don’t know how – I don’t know what to say.”

“Okay, well, just say it. I’ll take it as well as I can, whatever it is. I won’t interrupt or anything, I promise.”

She nods. He drops his eyes, too, and moves his hands into his own lap. He doesn’t have the edges of his cardigan to fiddle with – Simmons had taken it from the end of the bed so he had nothing to grab in his haste to get here. Instead he stares through his hands at the thread of the carpet, waiting.

“Okay.” Deep breath. Maybe she should just ask him if he wants kids and potentially avoid this whole discussion.

“Well.” Another. Because she’s almost certain the answer is yes, but he probably won’t just say yes, he’ll probably get excited and gush on with ideas or, god forbid, think she’s trying to tell him she’s pregnant.

“Oh, god, okay, I can’t think about this any more.” Screwing her nose up, she finally gets it out. It’s harsher than she meant, but at least it’s clear.  
  
“Fitz. I can’t have kids.”

The first thing that crosses his face is confusion. Simmons looks away for a moment, not quite ready to watch whatever’s next, but the confusion lasts longer than she is expecting.

“What? Wait – why are you thinking about this? Are you pregnant?”

Aaaand he’s jumped straight into stress mode. That’s what she gets for calling him crying about babies, she supposes.

“Oh, Fitz!” she cries, cutting off a babble of enthusiastic reassurances, “No, lord, no, do you know how many layers of contraception we’re using?”

And there it is, slowly dawning on him. She swallows hard as she watches it sink in.

“So…by…'can’t'….” he manages at last, “You didn’t mean ‘oh dear, what are we going to do,’…you meant…”

“Physically can’t.”

“Oh.”

His eyes are wide. Stunned. Hurt. (Horrified? Simmons wonders. She starts picking at the cardigan sleeves again.)

“It’s not anything bad,” she clarifies. “I’m not sick. I never had anything that bad really, not like, cancer or anything. I just…had a hysterectomy…so…no kids.”

“That’s fine. That’s. Fine.” Blinking, he gradually shakes it off and looks at her. “You’re okay though? Why are you crying? I don’t understand.”

He frowns - a beautifully concerned, confused frown - and she’d kiss it off him except they’re not finished.

“I’m okay with it,” she explains. “I really am, I’m okay with the whole situation. I got upset because I thought you…”

“Me?”

She shakes her head, and he doesn’t interrupt, just like he promised. Tearfully, she continues:

“I saw you with Sarah and it reminded me how much you love kids and you probably want kids and we’re getting to that point in our relationship where, I don’t know, I though it might come up, and I wasn’t sure how to tell you or what to tell you or how you would react or what to do about it so I came here. Daisy suggested I call you. So here we are. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

Nodding, he tries to absorb her words and quantify his feelings to answer.

“I’m…sad,” he says at last. “I’m sad. You’re right, I did want kids. Not, y’know, actively or anything – and I wasn’t about to bring it up any time soon – but I guess I’ve just kind of always imagined I’d have them.”

Simmons presses her lips together at the prickling pain of having her suspicions confirmed.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Oh, Jemma, it’s absolutely not –“

“I know.” She’s hesitant to interrupt his spiel of concern but she can’t bear to face him worrying about something else, especially something that’s not true. “I’m sorry you’re sad, is what I meant. I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well, not nothing. This part’s pretty good too.” He pulls her sideways against his chest, embracing her against the cool night air. He kisses her hair. “ _Jemma._ There are a lot of things about where we are now that I didn’t imagine. I love my life and I love you, and if kids can’t be a part of that, then so be it.”

She laughs a little, loved and relieved, and smiles as Fitz continues.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had some little Inhumans on the way some time soon. Maybe it’s all the team-building or watching the next gen come in but I think Daisy’s getting broody.”

“She’s going to need Uncle Fitz,” Simmons agrees, nodding and still smiling as she wipes the last of the tears away. She studies the ratty end of the cardigan sleeve and then jabs Fitz playfully. “Or Grandpa Fitz, if you keep wearing this old thing.”

There’s a knock at the door and, both on the verge of laughter, they turn to answer it. Daisy slowly opens the door, reading the room, and sticks her head in.

“My ears were itching.”

Simmons snorts laughter into Fitz’ sleeve.


End file.
